From Blackmailed by the Bomb: Nuclear Anxiety and the Cult of the Superweapon by Paul & Phillip D. Collins, October 18, 2009
. . . Thanks to irresponsible pseudo-researchers like Alan Watt, predictive programming is one concept in conspiratorial research that is in danger of falling into disrepute. The problem is the ridiculously elastic criterion that some use to categorize certain films, books, and TV shows as “predictive programming.” Suddenly, everything from an innocuous episode of Gilligan’s Island to an inane garage sale sign can be classified as “predictive programming.” Moreover, those who carelessly assign the appellation of “predictive programming” cannot compellingly demonstrate any degree of intertextuality between fictional narratives and actual events. Sadly, such irresponsibility is swiftly relegating the concept of predictive programming to the realm of paranoid fantasy.
Nevertheless, one can hardly deny that certain films, TV programs, and books have had a normative impact on the dominant culture. Artistic works within the genre of science fiction have been particularly influential among audiences. What is being described here is not some incredibly sophisticated system of brainwashing. Operating in a normative capacity, science fiction does not necessarily “make people behave in ways they otherwise would not” (Bartter 169). This perception of science fiction typically engenders “either the tacit justification for propaganda, or the reverse, the explicit justification for censorship” (169). However, it is through the presentation of possibilities that the normative power of science fiction is most effectively demonstrated. Martha A. Bartter states:[F]iction can represent possibilities for action to a large number of people in such a way that they can more clearly perceive possible choices and the various socio-cultural sanctions attached to those choices. The very act of considering choices irrevocably alters our assumptions about ways we may act, and since actions derive from assumptions (in the sense that both doing and choosing not to do must be considered actions), fiction can indeed endanger the status quo. The censors are right—for the wrong reasons. (169)
If the possibilities presented by normative fiction are given serious socio-cultural currency, then they can give rise to revisions in the status quo and the emergence of new cultural paradigms. Hypothetical scenarios of a normative nature can challenge the underlying assumptions of the current culture. Of course, when one challenges the dominant Weltanschauung, one must pose a viable alternative. To such an end, fiction can prescribe alternative values, principles, philosophies, and Weltanschauungs. Once fiction starts making such prescriptions, it becomes normative in character.
Yet, normative fiction also exhibits an “inherent ambiguity” (169). Although it calls the status quo into question, normative fiction simultaneously reinforces some of the values of the dominant paradigm. Paradoxical though it may seem, normative fiction combines conformity and rebellion to create a potent socio-cultural solvent. Bartter explains:On the one hand, every fiction arises from a particular time and place; it demonstrates to its hearers/readers a tacit consensus regarding cultural norms. On the other hand, and at the same time, it can introduce to its readers possibilities that they previously did not know or had not considered, and make these possibilities vividly “real” by fictional devices such as plot, character, setting, etc. Through a “willing suspension of disbelief,” readers conduct socio-cultural gedankenexperimente: they test how such ideas might work out in reality and what effects they might produce, and consider the possibility of a new consensus. (169)
Gedankenexperimente is the German word for “thought experiment.” The gedankenexperimente involves the tangible enactment of hypothetical scenarios in hopes of re-sculpting reality and creating a “new consensus.” Ideas are tested and the underlying assumptions of the current culture are called into question. As the socio-cultural thought experiment progresses, it might give rise to revisions in the status quo and the emergence of new cultural paradigms. Thus, the world of fact begins to more closely mirror the world of fiction. The a priori assumptions of science fiction literature become the de facto precepts of culture itself. In a sense, fiction becomes a precursor to fact.
The famous science fiction writer and editor John W. Campbell proposed that sci-fi presented an “unparalleled opportunity for socio-cultural thought experiments” (183). As such, some science fiction can inspire tectonic shifts in society and culture. The nature of these shifts depends upon the nature of the normative statements that inspired them. For instance, the techno-Utopian premises of much science fiction can be somewhat troubling, especially in light of the questionable outcomes of most sociopolitical Utopian movements (e.g., communism, fascism, and other varieties of socialism). To be sure, the techno-Utopian might argue that unfettered scientific progress will facilitate social progress. Yet, theoreticians like Theodor Adorno have correctly identified the disjunction between scientific progress and social progress, citing Nazi Germany as a prime example. Nevertheless, several science fiction writers communicate techno-Utopian prescriptions through their narratives. Such normative seeds can find fertile soil within the minds of audiences who have already made a “willing suspension of disbelief.” At that point, a socio-cultural gedankenexperimente in techno-Utopianism might begin. In fact, many such thought experiments have already taken place, as is evidenced by sizable scientistic cults like Scientology.
Perhaps the socio-cultural gedankenexperimente with the broadest ramifications for mankind is the Manhattan Project. None other than science fiction icon H.G. Wells can be connected with the advent of nuclear warfare. Leo Szilard, a Hungarian-American physicist who conceived the nuclear chain reaction and worked on the Manhattan Project, read Wells’ The World Set Free (Bartter 177). In this novel, Wells coined the term “atomic bomb” (176). Bartter states: “In a very real sense, through Szilard, Wells designed the Manhattan Project” (177). In fact, Wells’ novel even inspired the highly compartmentalized organizational framework of the Project. In turn, this organizational framework promoted an overall milieu of obscurantism. Bartter elaborates:One of its (the Manhattan Project’s) most important aspects was the application of ` assembly-line techniques to scientific research. By dividing the scientists into teams, each doing a small portion of the research, a high level of secrecy could be imposed on a discipline officially dedicated to the free exchange of information.
Many young scientists were eager to join the Project because it gave them a chance to do “cutting edge” work while serving their country. Few argued against the stifling secrecy; even fewer felt they could properly direct how their work should be used. That these assumptions are somewhat self-contradictory does not make them less powerful, merely less conscious. Scientists themselves read science fiction; many publicly admitted that such reading led them to their careers in science. Science fiction tacitly assumes that the role of scientist included that of alchemist as well; it seems that some Manhattan Project scientists were influenced by these assumptions. (177)
It is interesting that the invention of a weapon that would forever alter warfare was inspired by a man like Wells. Given his ideological heritage and elitist pedigree, Wells had good reason to encourage the introduction of a super-weapon that would plunge traditional international politics into an ontological and epistemological crisis. A cursory perusal of Wells’ résumé reveals his motive for promulgating the pervasive nuclear anxiety that would eventually create the political discourse of fear that underpinned the Cold War.
Wells held many dubious organizational affiliations. Among one of them was the Coefficients Club. Formed by Fabian socialists Sidney and Beatrice Webb, this organization assembled some of Britain’s most prominent social critics and thinkers to discuss the course of the British Empire (“Coefficients (dining club),” Wikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia). In essence, the Club promoted a world state, albeit a unilaterally initiated form of global government dominated by Britain (i.e., a Pax Britannia). Wells articulates this globalist vision in Experiments in Autobiography:The British Empire . . . had to be the precursor of a world-state or nothing . . . It was possible for the Germans and Austrians to hold together in their Zollverein (tariff and trade bloc) because they were placed like a clenched fist in the centre of Europe. But the British Empire was like an open hand all over the world. It had no natural economic unity and it could maintain no artificial economic unity. Its essential unity must be a unity of great ideas embodied in the English speech and literature. (Experiments in Autobiography 652)
One of the Club’s members was none other than socialist and population control advocate Bertrand Russell.
....
Evidently, this preoccupation with war appealed to Wells, whose fictional works exhibited some distinctly Darwinian militarist themes. Richard Weikart distills the Weltanschauung of the Darwinian militarist:Darwinian militarists claimed that universal biological laws decreed the inevitability of war. Humans could not, any more than any other animal, opt out of the struggle for existence, since—as Darwin had explained based on his reading of Malthus—population expands faster than the food supply. War was thus a natural and necessary element of human competition that selects the “most fit” and leads to biological adaptation or—as most preferred to think—to progress. Not only Germans, but Anglo American social Darwinists justified war as a natural and inevitable part of the universal struggle for existence. The famous American sociologist William Graham Sumner, one of the most influential social Darwinists in the late nineteenth century, conceded, “It is the [Darwinian] competition for life… which makes war, and that is why war has always existed and always will.” (165-66)
Given the fact that Darwinian militarism was heavily informed by Malthus’ statistical “research,” it is quite ironic that the Coefficients’ warmongering would even disturb a Malthusian like Russell. After all, in Malthus’ view, war served a necessary function in checking population growth. Russell’s unsettling preoccupation with population control actually harmonized rather well with the advocacy of endless conflict. Nevertheless, such warlike notions represented a point of departure between Russell and the Coefficients.
Again, Russell’s misgivings weren’t without justification. By portraying war as a preordained Consequence of the evolutionary development of man, Darwinian militarism condemned the whole human race to perpetual conflict. Moreover, Darwinian militarism rationalized the rejection of moral accountability and a Nietzsche-esque veneration of war:By claiming that war is biologically determined, Darwinian militarists denied that moral considerations could be applied to war. In their view wars were not caused by free human choices, but by biological processes. Blaming persons or nations for waging war is thus senseless, since they are merely blindly following natural laws. Further, opposition to war and militarism is futile, according to Darwinian militarists, who regularly scoffed at peace activists for simply not understanding scientific principles. (166)
...
Essentially, Wells’ Time Machine allegorically divided mankind into two distinct breeds: ranchers and livestock. In Wells’ view, the great mass of humanity was analogous to the Eloi, a herd whose numbers had to be culled. In order to carry out this unsavory, yet necessary task, a far less compassionate breed of men was required. Like the Morlocks, such men would appear to be monsters to the commoner. Nevertheless, Wells felt that such men should dominate his hypothetical world state, which he also dubbed the “New Republic”:The men of the New Republic will not be squeamish, either, in facing or inflicting death, because they will have a fuller sense of the possibilities of life than we possess. They will have an ideal that will make killing worth the while; like Abraham, they will have the faith to kill, and they will have no superstitions about death. They will naturally regard the modest suicide of incurably melancholy, or diseased or helpless persons as a high and courageous act of duty rather than a crime. (Anticipations 184)
Other pieces of Wells’ science fiction underscore his Darwinian militarist propensities. For instance, War of the Worlds depicts interplanetary warfare as a macrocosmic extension of natural selection (Williamson 189-95). This theme would eventually pervade the literary genre of science fiction:Science fiction is admittedly almost impossible to define; readers all think they know what it is and yet no definition will cover all its various aspects. However, I would suggest that evolution, as presented by Wells, that is a kind of mutation resulting in the confrontation of man with different species, is one of the main themes of modern science fiction. (Vernier 85)
This observation brings into clearer focus the dialectical framework intrinsic to evolutionary theory. The organism (thesis) comes into conflict with nature (antithesis) resulting in a newly enhanced species (synthesis), the culmination of the evolutionary process (Marrs 127). Of course, in such a world of ongoing conflict, violence and bloodshed are central to progress. Thus, Darwin’s theory ‘gave credence to the Hegelian notion that human culture had ascended from brutal beginnings’ (Taylor, 386).
....
Wells’ imaginative seeds eventually took root within the mind of Leo Szilard, resulting in the socio-cultural gedankenexperimente of the Manhattan Project:In 1932, many years after the first appearance of The World Set Free, the Hungarian nuclear physicist Leo Szilard read the novel and admitted in his memoirs that it gave him the idea for an atomic bomb. When, in 1932, Szilard heard of the work of Otto Hahn in Berlin with uranium fission, he realized that such a weapon now actually possible. “All the things which H.G. Wells predicted appeared suddenly real to me.” He shared his thoughts with his old friend and colleague Albert Einstein, who signed and sent a letter on the subject (much of it actually written by Szilard) to President Roosevelt. The president promptly authorized the formation of an “Advisory Committee on Uranium” to study their ideas. In time the work of this committee led to the Manhattan Project and the invention of atomic bombs, the same bombs that ended World War II and initiated a global scramble to acquire nuclear weapons that is still in progress and may some day lead to the collapse of civilization. The survivors — if any — would have reason to hold H.G. Wells personally responsible. (Wagar 146)
...
Nuclear fantasies had a profound influence on the thinking of Harry Truman, which is important given the fact that he is credited with the decision to drop atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. According to H. Bruce Franklin, Truman’s decision was “influenced by his belief that this demonstration of the ultimate superweapon might indeed bring an end to war” (“Eternally safe for democracy: the final solution of American science fiction” 157). What had caused Truman to place his faith in a weapon that constitutes the Promethean fire of science? Truman’s initiation into the cult of the superweapon is most likely found in the pages of McClure’s magazine (157). As a young farmer in Missouri, Truman subscribed to this magazine and avidly devoured its stories, which included tales of superweapons and global wars leading to peace and unification ushered in by a world government (157). Truman even wrote about his love for McClure’s in a letter to his sweetheart Bess in 1913, stating: “I suppose I’ll have to renew my subscription to McClure’s now so I won’t miss a number” (157).
...
The stories of superweapons that influenced Truman’s generation almost always ended with the complete extermination of black, red, or yellow people (156). It is almost as if the superweapon was ethno-specific in nature. The dreaded “Yellow Peril” was the threat most often presented and according to Franklin, this anti-Asian literature was “especially ferocious” (156). This should come as little surprise. As Gene Wolfe states in the introduction of Brave New Words: The Oxford Dictionary of Science Fiction: “science fiction is of Anglo-American growth” (Prucher xix). It seems that Americans were being conditioned to destroy the Western elites’ competitors in the great game for world hegemony.
...
Given the fact that [The Day After] inhabits the same subgenre of nuclear anxiety fiction, Wells’ The World Set Free constitutes one of the texts that is brought to bear upon The Day After. Implicit in the priest’s sermon is a distorted Biblical condemnation of what Wells called a “mere cult of warfare” in The World Set Free. In The Shape of Things to Come, Wells asserts that this cult is inextricably linked to the nation-state system: “The existence of independent sovereign states IS war, white or red, and only an elaborate mis-education blinded the world to this elementary fact.” Herein is the advocacy of the same sort of multilateral world state envisioned by the Pax Universalis sect of the cult of the superweapon. Multilateral or unilateral models of global governance aside, political unification as the only alternative to nuclear annihilation remains a permanent fixture of nuclear anxiety fiction. Ever-present is a discourse of fear.
As the sermon sequence opens, the audience hears a voice-over of the priest reciting a portion of Revelation 8:7: “…and the third part of trees was burnt up, and all green grass was burnt up.” Simultaneously, the camera follows another character wandering through rumble and dead farm animals. Implicit in this sequence is the reconceptualization of the Biblical concept of the Apocalypse as a purely immanent event. “Immanence” is a term derived from the Latin phrase in manere, which means “to remain within” (“Immanence,” Wikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia). An object of immanent experience remains within the ontological confines of the physical universe. Likewise, the Apocalypse depicted by The Day After completely indwells the material cosmos, bereft of any supernatural or transcendent elements.
For instance, the locusts that emerge from the smoke upon the earth in Revelation 9:3 are ripped from their Biblical matrix and reconceptualized as the residual effects of radiation from the bomb. Yet, there is an implicit rejection of Christian soteriology. As the priest cites Revelation 9:4, where it is revealed that the locusts will harm “only those men which have not the seal of God in their foreheads,” one of the congregation topples over from radiation sickness. The implication is that, as a purely immanent event, the Apocalypse is an indiscriminate killer. There is no salvation or deliverance forthcoming for believer and unbeliever alike.
The Day After had a tremendous impact on the minds of the viewing audience. The movie even converted then-President Ronald Reagan to the Pax Universalis sect. In his autobiography, Reagan stated that the movie had left him “greatly depressed” and had convinced him that a nuclear war was not winnable (585). According to The Day After’s director, Nicholas Meyer, the film had played a major role in the signing of the Intermediate Range Weapons (INF) Agreement in 1986 (“Fallout from ‘The Day After’”). Meyer claims that, shortly after Reagan signed the Treaty at the Reykavik Summit, the administration sent him a telegram stating: “Don’t think your movie didn’t have any part of this, because it did” (ibid).
...
While cults have proven to be effective as elite conduits, they usually have very short life spans. Wells wanted to make a permanent contribution to the oligarchs’ crusade for world government, so he used science fiction to weave his cult into the very fabric of culture itself. Groups such as the Illuminati, the Knights Templar, the Jesuits, and others have all been effectively suppressed by different nations at different times. Yet, how does a national government effectively suppress a cultural phenomenon? History has shown that attempts to do so, more often than not, are met with failure.
Wells’ cult of the superweapon spread like wildfire, mimicking Dostoevsky’s “fire in the minds of men” perfectly. That fire spread to Wells’ fellow elitists, engendering them with an undying devotion that mirrored the most ardent religious fanatic.
http://www.conspiracyarchive.com/2015/0 ... perweapon/
(Probably worth a look too: The Ascendancy of the Scientific Dictatorship: An Examination of Epistemic Autocracy, From the 19th to the 21st CenturyPaperback – June 23, 2006 by Paul Collins (Author), Phillip Collins (Contributor))